


Cut Chapter 33: Train Trip

by gaylie



Series: bwtslots [11]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Suicide Attempts, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylie/pseuds/gaylie
Summary: Cut chapter, which turned into chapter 81 (gun more like gone) and chapter 83 (The number of the Chapter looks like a happy Smiley, it’s trying to trick you)





	Cut Chapter 33: Train Trip

**Author's Note:**

> i dont remember ever posting my cut-out scenes (aside from "somewhere in chapter 10") which arent that many to begin with, but... this ones an entire chapter, so. yea. enjoy!

The police station was mostly quiet. The only noise to be heard was the police officer Bob Temmie, taking notes and scribbling something on some files.

Sans was sitting in the little cell, not a prison cell, but like, the kind of cell teenagers would wait in to get picked up by their parents if they fucked up and got caught. And well, that was the situation Sans was currently in. And for such a dumb reason. It wasn't like he had murdered a guy or anything.

Grillby was starting to tap with his foot against the ground. He was aware of the quiet breaking noise he was making this way, but literally couldn't give less of a shit right now. He had been around when the cops came.

Things had gotten weird. But, well, at least not for the reasons Sans had feared. It was worse.

When Sans had shown up at the bar Grillby hadn't even been there. At first Sans assumed that the fire monster was avoiding _him_ now, but it turns out he had been just busy. Once Grillby did show up, Sans felt equally relieved and tense, and hated both of it. But he had expected no less, really.

What Sans had not expected was that Mad Ghost brought weed, much to Asgore's dislike. The big guy, in fact, had almost left as soon as he found that he could not talk them out of getting high. He stuck for a lot, but apparently not that.

Apparently Mad Ghost's older brother dealt with drugs or whatever, at least that's what Mad told him, after a while of prying. Sans wasn't sure if monsters his kind could even _get_ high, but he sure as hell would not pass up on an opportunity like that. He badly wished he had.

It was still a miracle to Sans how both Grillby and Mad Ghost had stayed out of trouble, but he didn't really care at all, he just felt kind of betrayed. He knew it was unjustified, but still.

A loud noise broke the silence.

Gaster almost _broke_ the door open, still dressed in his lab coat. They must've called him at work.

“ **Sans!** ” He shouted, slipping in his mother language out of panic. Immediately he ran up to the counter with the very surprised police officer, who was desperately trying to tell Gaster to calm down, but got cut short. “ **Where's my son!?** ”

“Sir, please calm down!” The officer tried again in a panicked voice, not knowing what was going on right now, not understanding a word.

Gaster would've probably continued to shout at him, if it hadn't been for Grillby who seemed to recognize Sans' father. He walked up to him, grabbing Gasters' attention with a light tap on the shoulder, then pointed at the little waiting cell that Sans was sitting in. Gaster ran up to it, immediate and worried.

“ **Sans! Oh my god, what happened? Are you fine!?** ” He shouted, but before he could get some kind of reply, the police officer came to tell him to step away from the cell. Gaster obliged, calming down a little.

“I assume you are the child's father?” Officer Bob asked.

“ **Yes I-** Y-yes. I'm Dr. W.D. Gaster,” he stammered, his voice still shaky from worry.

“Well,” the officer began, looking at some sorta files he was holding in his paws, “we found your son both smoking as well as drinking alcohol.”

The second Gaster noticed that this was about something _Sans_ had done, not about something someone had done to _him_ , he took a sharp, shocked breath. But the officer wasn't done yet.  
“We also found him carrying a pack of cigarettes as well as an unregistered gun.” He showed Gaster the small, loaded gun, not bothering to search up the pack of cigarettes. There was genuine fear in Gasters eyes.

“Your son is 16, is that right?”

No reply. Gaster was too shocked to even realize the officer was asking him a question, and instead he resumed to his scared shouting. This time, however, in English.

“This can't be! My son would never do that, he- there- there's _got_ to be some kind of mix-up, right!?” He turned to Sans, who had been turning away from the both of them the whole time, not making a single noise. “Right Sans!?” Sans didn't answer. “...Sans?” This time Sans at least turned around, glaring at his dad. He didn't bother to say anything at first, but as Gaster continued to stare holes into him, he spit out a short “fuck you.” Usually he would probably say it in Wingdings, at least in public, but he didn't bother now. Officer Bob had heard him call him a lot worse things already anyway.

Gaster couldn't believe him.

“Sir, could you please wait here, while I'll get the documents?” Officer Bob asked, leaving as soon as Gaster gave a small nod, dumbfounded from the news and his sons reaction.

This _wasn't_ supposed to happen. Sure, Gaster knew his son had some… problems here and there, but he had managed to get Sans to visit school again regularly. He thought things were going _better_ for him. He thought his son had gotten on the wrong tracks, and he had helped him back on the right path.

Not that his son was out there doing drugs and carrying a gun and _god_ knows what he had done with that gun. Gaster didn't want to think about it.

When had his son gotten so off track? Why didn't Gaster _notice?_

Still in shock Gaster sat down on the little sitting bench next to the entrance door, not noticing the fire monster next to him at first. It took him a little while, but when he did, he recognized Grillby quickly as one of Sans' friends.

“You're… Grillby, right?” He asked, carefully. The fire monster nodded, but didn't say anything. That was the moment Gaster noticed he had never heard that one talk. Could he talk?

“Thank you for being here for my son,” Gaster continued, facing away from Grillby know. He felt… guilty. Like it was his fault Sans had turned the way he was now. It probably was.

“It's no problem, sir,” Grillby answered after a brief pause. So he _could_ talk. “It… must be hard seeing your son like this.”

Gaster nodded, but did not reply. Grillby continued instead.

“I understand if you are angry with him. And I am in no place to tell you how to raise your son, but…” Grillby sighed, glancing towards Sans, who was still ignoring anyone in this room. “Sans is going through a lot. There's a lot I believe he doesn't tell me, or anyone in fact, and maybe he just needs to… do things to get through it.”  
“There are other options to get through a bad phase,” Gaster noted, almost angry, but not at Grillby.

“Of course,” the fire monster replied, nodding.

They didn't say anything more, as a moment later the officer showed up again, holding a couple of documents. Gaster went over to officer Bob, reading through the documents he had to and signing them, making sure of a thing here and there. Usually Sans would have to stay a couple of days, but he was the son of Gaster and Gaster was an important scientist in monster society. They made an exception.

Gaster didn't waste a moment, yanking Sans out of the police station rather roughly.

“ow! what the fuck?” Sans cursed, trying to free himself from Gasters grip, unsuccessfully.

“Don't you talk to me like that, young man!” Gaster chastised, previous guilt and shock now replaced with anger. “You're in a _lot_ of trouble!”  
“whatever,” Sans growled. He was far too deep into this to still worry about the trouble he was in. He had known the moment the officer took him with that he was a dead man and has had enough time in the waiting cell to grow at peace with the fact that he had finally hit rock bottom.

It weren't any news that he'd fuck up, Sans thought. He just maximum fucked up now. This was the point in his life where it couldn't possibly get worse, so it _had_ to spin around at some point and slowly get better. Even if it couldn't get better, he could at least try to crawl at the bottom. As long as it didn't get worse.

Gaster let go of his son once they reached the car, motioning him to get in by the passengers seat. Sans obliged, not bothering to fight any more. He just wanted to get this over with. He just wanted to get home, have his dead yell at him, and then sleep for preferably three years straight.

The worst really was that he had lost his gun. He hadn't really used it a lot in first place, but… it gave him a sense of safety. He had noticed often enough that his magic was not reliable. Guns were. But his dad wouldn't understand, he figured.

Sans was thankful that once they got home, Gaster avoided telling Papyrus what happened as much as Sans would have. They just told him that Sans fucked up. In a less vulgar way. On Gaster's part at least. And as soon as Papyrus decided he would stop prying, which he would probably continue once he was alone with Sans, Gaster brought Sans with him to his room.

He didn't want to talk. Not about this. Not at all. Not about the gun, or the gang, or the drinking, or the weed. God damn it, he didn't even smoke weed usually, he barely _had_ smoked weed today! He'd only got like one small drag before the police passed by and Mad Ghost just fucking vanished to nothingness.

“What were you _thinking!?_ ” Gaster asked, almost shouting, the second the door closed behind Sans. “A _gun?_ Sans, _a gun!?_ ”

“what the fuck ever,” Sans just growled, facing away from his dad. “don't have to justify myself to you.” This was stupid, Sans thought. He didn't want to have to explain himself.  
“Oh, yes you do! _Sans!_ I know what it is like to be your age and I _know_ kids your age feel adventurous about this kind of stuff,” Gaster started, motioning with his hands as he would when he got emotional, “and I would tolerate a lot, Sans! I would. But a _gun?_ ” Shut up.  
“'s not like i shot anyone. or was planning to.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Then _why_ were you carrying a gun!?”

“because fuck you!” Sans snapped. “that's why! fuck you!”  
“ _Sans,_ ” Gaster warned.  
Sans threw his hands up in defeat. “alright! fucking fine! i was scared, okay!? my magic's crap, for fucks sake, it cracked my god damn skull! 's never working when i need it, but _guess what._ a gun is. even if it's just for scaring the shit out of people, _it works._ ”  
“What is going on in your life that you would need a gun!?”  
“that's none of your god damn business!”

There was a tense pause, and Sans could sense that Gaster was about to yell at him more, when he could suddenly hear the door creaking open. Spinning around shocked, Sans noticed Papyrus standing at the door frame, looking frightened. Frustrated Sans wiped a sleeve across his face, drying the wetness. He hadn't even noticed he was crying. Damn.

“'m sorry,” he stated, to no one of them in particular. “hey pap. want me to, uh. read you a bedtime story?” Sans reached out for his brothers shoulder, only to notice him flinching away. Immediately Sans pulled his hand back, staring at Papyrus in confused shock, and the younger skeleton stared back equally confused and frightened.

“I-I heard shouting,” he stuttered.

“Papyrus…-” Gaster began, but got interrupted by the noise of Sans fist hitting the wood of the door frame.

“fucking dammit!” He cursed loudly, before teleporting into his room.

That's it. That's fucking it. The last god damn straw. Papyrus was _scared_ of him. Papyrus! His _own_ baby brother! Why? _Why_ did he have to be such a _mess?_ Why couldn't he just for once in his _god damn_ life do something right?

Sans could feel himself starting to shake and he sat down on the floor, back resting against the closed door. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fucking lose his brothers trust. Not on top of everything. It was all piling up, everything just kept and kept and kept on piling up. When would it end? When the _fuck_ would Sans stop creating new problems in his life and start _fixing_ some?

He hated this, _his_ situation. He hated himself for getting so deep into this mess in first place. He hated himself so god damn much. It was frustrating, so god damn frustrating, and he wanted to tear something apart. Tear _himself_ apart.

Shakily Sans rolled up the sleeve on his arm, hiccuping as he started crying a little again. It didn't matter. The small crack was still there. Fine, barely visible. The cuts and the chips had all healed. Maybe it had something to do with magic. Sans had gotten both his cracks do to magic. Well, it was fair in a way. He messed up, cracked his own bone and would now have to live with it. Live with a giant crack for everyone to see. For everyone to know what a fuck-up he was. It was fair. He deserved his. Karma.

Sans began chipping off his bone around the small crack on his wrist, flinching at the pain at first. It would usually help him calm down a bit. Get distracted, off thought. It didn't this time. All it was hurt. And remind him how messed up he was.

Sans hadn't noticed the steps coming closer, or Papyrus calling from outside the room, so he had no warning when suddenly the door pushed open, pushing Sans away from it.

“oof,” he gasped, falling to his side. He had hit marrow and there was a bit of blood dripping from the chipped of bone. Sans quickly covered it up by pulling his sleeve back down, before he got up again, staring shocked at Papyrus.

“S-Sans!!!” Papyrus called shocked. He sounded a little out of breath from running down the stairs. “I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-”  
Sans didn't listen any longer and teleported away. He felt sick. Sick of anger and hate and frustration. Not at his brother, of course, god no. At himself. He felt so angry for making Papyrus worry. He felt so frustrated for not being able to get anything under control. He hated himself, so god damn much it hurt.

He had teleported to the little abandoned playground not too far away from his house. It looked like always. Old rusty slide, moist wood bench, dirty sand box, broken swings. Oh, the swings hadn't been broken last time. Oh well. Sans knew of another thing that was broken here, aside from all the glass shards and bottles scattered on the ground. There was a fence at the back of the playground, shielding it from the small forest path along the train tracks. There was also a small hole in the fence. Not too large, but big enough for Sans to climb through and step towards the train tracks. He knew trains came here every twenty minutes.

Sans sat down on the dirty forest ground next to the train rails, listening for some kind of noise indicating for a train to come. Or anyone else. But it was quiet, aside from the constant chirping of birds, and the rustling of branches and dead leaves in the wind. It was kind of… peaceful. Just sitting there. Waiting. Listening to the noises of nature. He didn't think for once. He just sat there. Waiting. He didn't worry. He didn't over-think. Just waiting. Breathing. Waiting.

He felt numb, if he would have to be honest. There was a sort of peace in it, free from his anger, fear, hate for the moment. But it rooted with apathy and he knew it. It would be scary later. It wasn't now. Right now he just waited.

He could hear a noise from the distance, gradually coming closer. Sans turned his head to spot the train dashing into his direction and he stood up. Swallowing hard, and he waited. Watching the train come closer. Watching the train. Watching the train drive past him.

He didn't move. He _couldn't._ But there were tears running down his face again, and they stung against the icy winter wind, but he didn't bother drying them up. He could've stepped in front of the train. It would've been so easy. He hadn't. He wasn't ready.

Not yet, he told himself. Maybe, one day.

There was a buzzing in his pocket, and when Sans checked he had around 20 missed calls and several text messages.

 

 

Sans:

sorry

 

 

Sans:

im safe dont worry

 

 

Sans:

im coming back

 

**Author's Note:**

> god i miss bwtslots


End file.
